Difficult Things
by Dreaming of Everything
Summary: G1. Hound's realized Sunstreaker is watching him, which is kind of unnerving, really. Sunstreaker is convinced he wants absolutely positively nothing to do with Hound. Sideswipe's amused. Bumblebee's bemused. Everyone else is clueless--so far. HoundxTwins
1. Absolutely Not In Love

**Difficult Things: **Absolutely Not In Love

**By Dreaming of Everything**

I do not own Transformers in any way, shape or form.

This pairing blindsided me, and I decided to write it—which is slightly odd, as I haven't really felt an urge to write pairingfic for Transformers before. As an experiment, with this story I'm going to try to keep the chapters short, but update regularly—or at least more regularly than I do with my other stories.

The story is set in G1. Any explicit scenes will be cut from the ffdotnet version of this fic: full chapters will be posted to my LJ (dream-it-all . livejournal . com). I'll also warn in individual chapters if something's been changed, and post links to specific chapters in my profile. Why go to all that bother? Because I don't want to get banned.

Many thanks to my beta, **mmouse15**!

I hope you enjoy the story!

oOoOoOo

Hound hadn't realized that Sunstreaker had been watching him until Bumblebee had—indirectly—broached the subject, which was somewhat embarrassing. After all, he was supposed to be the best tracker the Autobots had. It was his _job_ to notice things—more than that, his main purpose on the team.

To be fair, though, the entire idea was so ridiculous that Hound could probably be excused on the grounds that nobody in their right minds would think that Sunstreaker—of all mechs—would develop a fascination with him.

It was also kind of unnerving.

oOo

Sunstreaker couldn't remember when, exactly, he'd started spending time with Hound on a regular basis—or at least kind of regular.

It scared the slag out of him. Or at least that was how Sides had put it. Sunstreaker himself was of the opinion that _nothing_ scared him, let alone behaviors he wouldn't admit to having in the first place, even to his twin. Let alone to himself.

And there was no reason why he kept on sitting near the mech, if not at the same table, when there were breaks. Or why he enjoyed it when they were on-duty together. Or why he found himself wondering what Hound was doing during his off-duty hours, or when it had been a while since he'd seen him.

There wasn't anything particularly interesting about the mech, after all. He certainly wasn't _attractive_. If anything, he was the opposite—his build was stocky, he was an unattractive shade 

of green, rough features, often fairly dusty, clearly built first and foremost for function, with form playing second fiddle, if it had been considered at all.

Then, Hound wasn't a particularly good conversationalist—not that Sunstreaker was interested in conversation. And he had some perverted obsession with the organic-infested backwater planet they'd ended up on. The most that could be said about him was that he was easy-going and friendly, to _everyone_.

Including Sunstreaker.

Who'd started spending time with him. Starting a while ago. Sunstreaker wasn't sure when—it was just something that had _happened_. He could see being drawn to, for example, Optimus Prime—well, not Sunstreaker himself, but if he was somebody else, and the mech _was _a good leader, sometimes—who had the sort of magnetic personality that caused that kind of thing, or slag, even with Jazz, who was charismatic if nothing else, but _Hound?_ It was ridiculous!

His brother certainly thought so.

Sunstreaker thought so too. But that hadn't stopped anything.

And it could have been worse. Maybe.

Yeah, it could be worse. It could be a _minibot_, or, or Tracks—

But that was moving away from ridiculous and into outright unimaginable.

He still didn't know _why_. Why—why _anything_, really. Why he'd ended up fixating on Hound of all people, why he'd ended up with this… _fascination_ at all. Why he couldn't just let it all go and move on. Why he hadn't just solved the matter by provoking Hound into a fight and hitting him until everything got back to normal. Or something like that.

oOo

So Sunstreaker had been watching him, obviously enough that Bumblebee had noticed it. Or not 'noticed' it, but thought it was obvious or important enough to bring up with Hound himself—he _was_ special ops, after all, even if most people didn't seem to remember that. Hound did know that Bumblebee was distinctly on edge around Sunstreaker, although, in general, he was one of the best-natured Autobots they had, which might have something to do with the situation—it was entirely possible that it wasn't a _positive_ sort of attention (for a given value of 'positive') and instead some long, drawn-out plan for revenge for some slight or another. Hound couldn't think of any sort of event that would cause that sort of reaction, but that didn't mean that Sunstreaker couldn't.

Really, he wondered why he'd ended up the focus of Sunstreaker's attention at all. He wasn't the best-looking mech on the Ark, far from it, and he was friendly, but that… Didn't mean much to Sunstreaker. To his brother, maybe, but even that was doubtful. They had very little in common. 

To start with, Sunstreaker was clear about his feelings toward their current home planet, and they were very _different_ from Hound's own. To say the least.

He'd just kind of… Inserted himself into Hound's life. Not an involved presence—he barely spoke to Hound, let alone deigned to have a conversation—but one that was there surprisingly often.

Actually, how rarely they actually interacted, instead of being within proximity of each other, was probably part of the reason it had taken Hound so long to realize what was happening.

Of course, now he'd been tipped off to the situation and realized what was going on, he was hyperaware of the situation, and Sunstreaker's presence. It was making him twitchy and distracted.

With a bit of luck, one of the officers—which translated to Red Alert (always paranoid, even if he was effective) or Prowl, or maybe Jazz, because it was an inter-personal matter, which he seemed to keep an eye on—would switch them off of their current shared shift, a routine patrol Sunstreaker had almost definitely been assigned to. Hound had asked for the assignment; he could hardly ask for another change now.

Sunstreaker complained vociferously about the job, though. Maybe _he'd_ ask to be reassigned. Although that seemed unlikely, seeing as he was just short of shadowing him.

But that was all peripheral issues. What Hound kept on coming back to, unable to come up with a halfway-reasonable answer or any explanation whatsoever, was _why_.

oOo

"You're in a mood," said Sideswipe archly from where he was sprawled on their recharge pad, fiddling with some gadget or something.

His brother growled wordlessly.

"C'mon, Sunshine, I'm not even being _annoying_. …Yet. But I can be, if you're gonna be like that—seriously, bro, it'll be easier for you and probably less painful for me if you just talk to me now."

Sunstreaker started pacing, but he also started talking, so Sideswipe let it go.

"I—

"_Primus_. I don't know. Hound—"

"Oh slag it, Sunny, are you _still_ on about this? You—"

"You're interrupting."

"You just interrupted me back, so we're even. You need to—"

"It doesn't count if I was interrupting you after you interrupted me."

"Yes, it does—"

"No."

"Yes, and stop trying to distract me. You need to just let go of your weird hang-ups and admit that whatever it is you've got for him, you've got it. And you probably have a reason, because whatever they say about you, I know different—you don't go for pointless hook-ups often. …And he's not your type, is he?"

"No, he's not! He's _ugly_."

"He's not _that_ bad. He'd be almost up to my standards if he wasn't so dusty so often."

"You have standards?"

"Ouch, Sunshine, you sure know how to hurt a guy. Seriously, though, 'fess up. Just… Talk about Hound for a while, 'kay? Out loud. Describe him to me."

Sunstreaker looked at his brother with a jaundiced eye. "You already know Hound."

"Just humor me, bro. _Pretend_ I don't."

"Frag it, Sides—"

"Seriously."

"Fine. _Fine_.

"He's—ugly. Heavy build, uninspired green color, usually dusty and never really _sparkling_, plain face: it suits the rest of him." He stopped abruptly, both in his speech and in his pacing, then started again.

"Tracking specialist—which is kind of boring. And good with holograms—you'd think something so visual would translate to a more _attractive_ form. Or at least improved hygiene. Uh—Most of the Ark seems to like him. I don't know _why_, but they do. He's friends with Trailbreaker, Bumblebee, Inferno I guess, Bluestreak for some reason, but gets along with everyone, even if it's not really a friendship. He—puts up with me.

"Not all that smart—certainly not Perceptor, or slag, even Ratchet. But not _stupid_, I guess, because he's a good tracker if nothing else. He's got this _obsession_ with this stupid back-water pit of a planet, though, so clearly there's something wrong with him. He thinks it's all 

'fascinating.'" Sunstreaker's tone was drawn out and mocking for the last word; he was clearly agitated. "Loves all the slagging _vegetation_ and the miserable bundles of carbon that crawl around—and he's not even all obsessed with the humans like Bumblebee or that egoist Tracks, no, it's the _non-sentient_ squishy organics, which is pointless—But it's been years and he's _still_ stuck on them, I swear it's getting worse—"

He broke off again, but Sideswipe stayed silent. Sunstreaker shot him a dirty look, then continued. "He's started spending time with the scientists, because of it all—Perceptor, Skyfire and Beachcomber. He doesn't spend much time at the Ark though—not anymore than he has to. He's always going off into the woods to poke at primitive carbon constructs. We have a shift assignment together—he _asked_ for it. I was _assigned_ when Prowl got pissy one day."

"To be fair, you having an away shift makes things easier."

"Don't interrupt me."

"Oh, you _want_ to talk more? Go on ahead—"

"Slagger."

"Okay, then. As I was _saying_, you having an away shift is a good thing, if you ask me, because it gets you away from the ark, lets tempers cool a little, and even _you_ can't get Hound riled up all that easily—Hey, maybe that's why you like him!"

"I do _not_ 'like' him, he's just as stupid as every other 'bot on this ship and uglier than any mech that's not a minibot, I just—Just—"

"Actually do like him?" Sideswipe finished for him, clearly amused.

"—no!"

"Ohhh, you had to _think_ about that one—"

"Just give it up!"

"Fine, fine, I will. …For now."

"I'm _leaving_."

"To go find Hound? No, no, wait, don't attack me! If you get in another fight this week, even if it's with me, Prowl's going to get your aft in the brig before you can blink—"

Sunstreaker didn't bother responding this time, just stomping out of the room.

When he did run into Hound, it was entirely a coincidence.

--End chapter 1--


	2. Personality Conflicts

**Difficult Things:** Personality Conflicts**  
By Dreaming of Everything**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Transformers.

**Author's Notes**: Many, many thanks to my beta, **mmouse15!**

(Please note how quickly I got this up! It's been just 24 days!)

Edit 9/5/08: Many, many thanks to **Dairokkan** for pointing out some typos for me! They've been fixed.

* * *

Hound kept on staring at him when he thought Sunstreaker wasn't looking. It was pissing him off.

Okay, so it wasn't anything worse than what he'd been doing to Hound to start with, but that was _different._ And he'd been more subtle, anyways. –How the slag had Hound ever been made a scout? Didn't that require subtlety and stuff like that? Unlike the functions Sunstreaker had been designed and programmed for: slagging Decepticons good on the battlefield in incredibly risky ways.

–Okay, maybe he was only catching Hound watching him because he was watching Hound—_slag_ it—to start with. Maybe Hound was being at least somewhat subtle—none of the mechs he was seated with seemed to have noticed anything wrong, and they were his friends. Not that Sunstreaker was any good at catching on to those sorts of things. He wasn't good with _people_. That was Sideswipe's job.

…Bumblebee kept on looking at Hound funny. And every so often he'd glance at Sunstreaker, but that was kind of normal. Most of the minibots did that to him, since they were usually his primary targets when he attacked another member of the ark. Most of them were more unpleasant than Bumblebee was, though…

Maybe Hound kept on looking at him because he'd noticed Sunstreaker watching him. So it was him watching Hound watching him watching Hound, because he'd been caught looking in the first place.

If that was the case, he'd have to kill Hound on general principle. And he'd _enjoy_ doing it, because—

Slag. Whatever. Hound probably just thought he was planning on attacking him, which was—

Which was what usually happened whenever Sunstreaker paid attention to a mech who wasn't his brother. Although sometimes he listened to the officers, and he rarely went after them.

Maybe if he did attack Hound, they'd get moved off of patrol together. Or it would convince Hound to ask for a change. He tolerated Sunstreaker, but his friends weren't the ones who normally ended up in the medbay after brawling with him. …Or ever. Hound's friends were boring, but inoffensive, over all. His _group_.

He'd never been in a fight with Hound himself: there was no way the mech would stay… Not friendly, but as friendly as Autobots who weren't Sideswipe got with Sunstreaker. Tolerant, maybe. Not if he attacked him…

It was a good idea. Attacking him. It would solve his problem… If he could just _dismiss_ Hound as useless, simple and ugly, which he _was_, like the rest of the Ark, except for a very few exceptions…

"So I'm thinking of asking Prowl if I can switch shifts again," Hound was saying, tone casual. Sunstreaker stiffened, his glare intensifying even though no one could see it; he was, and had been, staring at the table and energon cube in front of him, gripped between his hands. "Not much of one, just to the night shift—there'll be owls and bats and other nocturnal animals, it'll be great! I don't know if I'll get it, though—I mean, I just asked to switch onto the patrol I have now, and you know how Prowl gets…"

"I would be willing to consider recommending the alternate schedule, assuming you assisted me by making observations and allowing me access to your notes at a later date," Perceptor said mildly.

"Great!" Hound replied, brightening. "Thanks, Perce—that's a huge help."

"It's nothing—and I will end up benefitting as well, you know. I'm not being entirely selfless."

"Still—the thank-you still stands. Anything in particular you want me to keep an eye out for?"

"There's a species of insect I'm investigating right now, of the Lepidopterae…"

Sunstreaker tuned the rest out, still staring at his hands against the smooth metal finish of the table, face twisted into a scowl as he thought.

Moved off of the same patrol. Did Hound really just want to see different organic creatures? Or was it because of Sunstreaker? If he really did think Sunstreaker was planning to attack him—which he _wasn't_, for once. Even if it would make things easier if he did…

It wasn't _fair_. The one time he wasn't planning on getting violent, and the person who mattered—and everyone else—thought he was anyways.

* * *

"Didn't get moved off the patrol?" Sunstreaker spat mockingly as Hound pulled up next to him, their shift starting. "I guess you're not the officers' darling you thought you were."

"Huh? You heard that?"

"I was there—you should know that! You kept on _staring_ at me. Do you really think a slagger like you should be staring at me? Jealousy is so—unbecoming." The bile, thick and bitter, came easily—it always did. Some days, that scared him. Usually, he liked it. It made things easier.

"I can't say I'm jealous of you," said Hound, and even though there was nothing unusual about his phrasing, his tone wasn't nearly as relaxed, casual, slightly amused, as it usually was. Sunstreaker had been in moods like this on patrol before, and the other mech had always seemed to fail to notice, more than anything else.

"You aren't? Then why _were_ you staring at me? –Don't tell me you think you have a chance of earning a little of my attention! _Me_—I'm the best-looking 'bot on this planet."

"I don't want to interface you, Sunstreaker." He sounded—cold.

"Well, then. You expect me to believe you were staring at me for no reason? You kept on looking back. Is it that you expect me to attack you, Hound? Why worry about that? I'm sure your oh-so-useful tracking abilities and holograms would easily allow you to escape if, say, I were to go after you—"

Hound stiffened. "I'll bring the officers into this if I have to," he said quietly. Sunstreaker was suddenly filled with incandescent rage. Hound _did_ think he was going to attack him, _slag_ it—

It wasn't too late to fulfill those expectations.

…No. He couldn't. For once—

For once, he didn't want to prove them right. _Everyone_ right. For once, he wanted to—

He wished he was his brother. Sideswipe was an immature idiot, and not nearly as handsome, but he could _do_ this sort of thing, he could be around other people— He would never have slagged things up this badly—

They were running late. Sunstreaker transformed, gunning his engine, and took off. Hound followed him, but even more slowly than he usually did. The distance between them grew.

They both remained silent for the rest of the shift. After it was over, Sunstreaker went to talk to his twin.

* * *

"You were right, you slag-sucking pit-damned—"

"Hey, Sunshine, what's up?"

"I should _beat you into scrap_."

"Whoa—_someone's_ Mr. Moody today. Did you get your aft kicked by Tracks or something?"

–That was too ridiculous to think about. "As if. But you were _right_, slag it."

"Right about _what_, Sunny? You're not making a lot of sense—should I call Ratchet or something?"

"About _Hound!_"

"—I'm still not sure I'm following you, bro. –Ohhh, are you talking about how you've got that thing for him? Yeah—duh. That ain't news and it ain't hard, Sunny-boy."

Sunstreaker twitched at the new nickname. "Call me that again and you die."

Sideswipe laughed, clearly delighted. "You don't want that! You should think twice about attacking me at all—"

"Why?"

"'Cause you need my help. You _do_, don't you? You suck worse at dealing with other people than Prowl. –Than almost all the bots on the Ark, matter of fact— Let's see—Red Alert made friends with Inferno… the minibots all stick together… Yeah, you suck most at 'interpersonal interactions.' That's how Ratchet puts it in his files—"

Sunstreaker's train of thought was derailed. "What?"

"Oh—he's got psychological profiles for all of the mechs on the ark, because he's the medic, I guess. I was doing a little _research_ one day, if you catch my drift, and I ran across 'em. Yours was one of the big ones. –Y'know, even _Starscream_ has those two other jets he flies around with— So he's got you beat, too."

"I slagging _know,_ Sideswipe!"

The red mech looked over, startled at the sheer vehemence in his brother's voice—at the rage and, beneath it, something that sounded almost unhappy. He softened, briefly laying a hand on his brother's shoulder before it was shrugged off. Still, Sunstreaker calmed a little. "—So, yeah. I'm here to help What d'you want?"

"…I don't know."

"That's funny—neither do I."

"He's—I screw things up, Sides. I don't know— He asked to get moved off of our patrol, or he's going to. He says it to look at stupid organic creatures that like the dark, but…

"It's because he thinks I'm going to attack him. He caught me watching him—stop sniggering you glitching lunatic—and now…"

"So be nice—not too nice, true, or he'll get paranoid because actual decent behavior is out of character for you, but maybe you could be a little more decent. So, you could actually respond to greetings instead of glaring… Maybe a little more humility, or at least less obvious bragging?"

"Sideswipe—" Sunstreaker sounded almost panicky.

"_Sunstreaker,_" Sideswipe mimicked. "Look. This isn't that hard—tons of mechs do this on a regular basis. Seriously—"

"—I—" Sunstreaker just sounded more distressed, he knew. If it had been anyone but his twin, it would have been pissing him off, that someone was hearing that weakness in his voice. But it wasn't another mech—it was just Sideswipe.

"Why is this so _hard_ for you?" There was a bitter note in the red mech's voice. He'd been dealing with his brother's social skills since the two of them had onlined. And it had all gotten worse after the war had started—and kept on getting worse. Ratchet had had something in his file about "self-fulfilling prophecies" and "cyclical behavioral patterns." It had made an unnerving amount of sense. "No, seriously, why is this so hard for you?"

"You _know_ this, Sideswipe—"

"Not really. We haven't really talked about this in—slag, in a long time. Anyways, indulge me. What's your problem?"

"…When I find out who gave you psychology files, I am going to make them beg for mercy before I finally offline them."

"It was Jazz. C'mon, answer!"

"Sideswipe! I am not going to—to slagging _indulge_ you with this, this… Just let it go!"

"Whoa, whoa, alright! Look, I get that you… Just don't really know how to do this… But it's not hard! It's not like it's not something you can learn or, slag, pretend to do for a while!"

"I… Look. Sides, I just don't—I don't _understand_ anyone else. I get you, you're a shallow dolt who gets his kicks through practical jokes and pulling stupid slag on the battlefield, that's fine. I _know_ you, I know how you're going to react, I don't have to worry! When I speak, I know you're gonna get what I mean, that you won't just pull something out of your aft and then freak out about it. You're not—you—

"Most of 'em can go interface with a blender. But… I always say something _wrong_, even if I didn't mean to. Or my temper goes because they've done something _stupid_ and I do something 

that just freaks them all out more, even if it wasn't anything too bad to start with—and it's all, all—_slag_ it, they're going to know it if I want them bleeding and beaten! And…"

"Yeah, I get it," Sideswipe said softly. "And, yeah, I… Okay, it's not all your fault. I mean, _most_ of it is, because you can't go around attacking the other guys and being moody and irritable all the time and bragging shamelessly the vast majority of it—even if it's true, we're not going to get into that right now, Sunny—without it having effects."

Sunstreaker stared at the far wall of their room, expression set and grim.

"Does this have to be about Hound? Because I don't see him as the type to be easy to talk around to this sort of thing. He's one of the _nice_ ones, Sunshine, he likes this planet and everything, gets along with the humans and almost all the Autobots, tries to keep things calm and quiet, doesn't brawl… I bet you could talk Mirage into something, or maybe—"

Sunstreaker shook his head violently. "I… I'll just ignore it or something," he muttered, sounding like he was hurting, deeply, if you knew what to listen for, underneath the sullen annoyance, the irritation and the ever-present promise of violence. "It'll have to go away eventually. He's going to get switched off of our patrol. If I _do_ fight him it'll—"

"Don't say that, Sunny," Sideswipe said, voice oddly conflicted. "I—Hey, I'm going to help you, right? And between my charm and your looks, no Cybertronian born would be able to turn us down."

--end chapter 2--


	3. In The Dark

**Difficult Things:** In the Dark

**By Dreaming of Everything**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Transformers in any of its incarnations.

**Author's Notes**: Sorry it's taking so long!

And since I did get asked, here's a general answer: yes, this fic will be continued. All my fics will be continued, unless clearly labeled otherwise. I'm slow, but I almost always get there in the end!

I would be hugely thankful if you would go take the survey currently pinned in my profile page. I put a lot of time and effort into review replies; they mean a lot to me. I'm reevaluating, though, since so many people seem uninterested in them, and I'd like to get a better idea of peoples' opinions.

Thank you very much to my beta, **mmouse15**!

* * *

Hound looked up in surprise as someone—as _Sideswipe_—sat down next to him, followed momentarily by Sunstreaker, on the other side, so he was sandwiched in-between. Why had he sat down in the middle of the couch, again? Sunstreaker glanced briefly over at him before directing his attention to the TV; Sideswipe just ignored him.

A documentary was playing, one about lions; he'd seen it before, and Hound glanced briefly at the remote before deciding to head things off at the pass. It wasn't even worth considering, really. Wordlessly, he held the clicker out to Sideswipe, who looked at it and then at him with (almost definitely faked) confusion.

"What?" Sunstreaker said at last, unable to keep the words from sounding at least slightly challenging.

Sideswipe cut in smoothly before Hound could reply. "What Sunny means is, is there a reason you're handing me the remote?"

"Not in particular," Hound said, stalling. The twins weren't known for their patience, or their love of nature documentaries. Since there was a good chance Sunstreaker was already angry with him, he hadn't wanted to give them an excuse to jump him. Not that any reasonable mech would consider that a reason to start a fight.

"Well. Okay, then," Sideswipe said, at his most irritating and obtuse, and he shoved the remote back into Hound's hands.

_Slag,_ Hound thought. That put the ball back into his court. He was getting nervous—what fresh hell had the two of them come up with? "Is there something in particular you'd like to see?" It wasn't like the potential—possibly unavoidable—fight would be worth watching a mediocre documentary. And he'd seen this one already.

"Weren't you watching _this,_ though?" Sideswipe said, gesturing expansively at the video screen, and this time Hound _knew_ he was faking the curiosity and slight concern. He felt an uncharacteristic surge of anger, but forced it down. Trying to get someone to attack _them_ would be a new strategy for the pair, as far as he knew, but that didn't mean much. They were by no means stupid. Certainly Sideswipe was devious enough to come up with something like that, especially as Prowl's glacial temper continued to fray.

"Yes," he said, vaguely, calming down a little. He did _not_ add a sarcastic _'And your point is…? Since when has that stopped you? Or, more to the point, your brother?'_

"We'll watch the lions, then," Sideswipe said, turning to face the TV again and settling back. _He_ clearly thought the conversation was over.

"Oh," Hound said, honestly confused, before he turned away as well.

* * *

Hound realized that they'd gained something of an audience. Probably because Sideswipe had started cheering on the lions, who were hunting. Jazz had decided to join in, on the side of the hyenas. Things had snowballed from there.

Bumblebee caught Hound's eye from across the small crowd of mechs, his expression a question.

Hound shrugged in reply. He had no idea what the twins were up to, either.

When he looked away again he thought he caught Sunstreaker watching the two of them, a slightly strange—or maybe just hard to decipher—look on his face. Hound wasn't sure, though, and he put it out of his mind.

* * *

"Hey, Hound, wait up a sec," Jazz called after him, jogging over. "Prowl says to tell you your shift request went through—you're on night patrol now, sure enough. Have to say, man, I'm glad I don't have your shift—but I guess if it floats your boat. Catch you later!"

And then he was gone, leaving a smiling Hound in his wake. He left, too—he'd been on his way out of the rec room when Jazz had stopped him.

Sunstreaker left just minutes after him.

* * *

Sideswipe didn't bother looking up as his brother stalked into towards him, instead loosing another shot at the target he was focusing on.

"What do you want, Sunny? I'm trying to practice, here."

Sunstreaker ignored him, instead just elbowing his way closer until he was pressing against his brother—not a hug, exactly, but physical proximity. Closeness.

Sideswipe made an almost annoyed sound and subspaced his gun. "What? What is it?" When there was no immediate answer, he pressed further. "Did Hound loudly and convincingly declare that he finds you physically repulsive?"

He stumbled as Sunstreaker pushed him violently.

"So—I was in the right ballpark, then?"

Sunstreaker glared, but didn't bother denying it.

There was a long silence. For once, Sideswipe decided not to goad his brother into talking, letting the silence do it for him.

"—Hound got switched to the night patrol."

"C'mon, Sunshine, live up to your name for once. Hound's kind of a freak: he's totally devoted to this planet. And he doesn't really seem to care much about you either way, so—That's not helping, is it. Look—I really don't think this is because of you. Or at least it's not entirely because of you. I don't see Hound as the type to go through all this trouble to get away from you. –Although I guess he did kind of try to hand control of the TV over to me that one time because he didn't think we wanted to watch the lions. I think we might've kind of freaked him out when that happened, but that's kind of normal, right? Because we're not usually decent—well, I am, sometimes—"

"Just—shut up," snarled Sunstreaker, voice ugly. "Shut up!"

"Whoa! Calm down, bit-brain. Look—he just wants to see new weird animals. Trust me on this. He's not that sort. He'd be upfront if it wasn't about that, especially since I don't really think he's all that scared of you. Sure, you kind of make him nervous, but you do that to me, too! Sometimes, at least. …Not often, but you can get freaky. Like that stare you're giving me right now? Not cool. _Any_ways, he doesn't think you're too bad. Or at least not totally psychotic. Or at least not psychotic and out of control—Okay, _okay_. I'll stop."

There was a long silence, a long pause. Neither moved. After a full two minutes had ticked by, Sunstreaker turned violently away. Sideswipe waited another moment, then edged closer, sidling up to his brother until they were flush against each other again, metal pressing against metal hard enough to squeal when they moved, shifting a little. Neither broke away for a long, long time.

* * *

Sunstreaker had been avoiding Hound for the past week, and he'd been remarkably successful. Now they no longer shared a patrol—he'd been replaced by Swoop, who was barely tolerable because he was quiet, even if he _was_ a Dinobot—it was easy. And his off hours were Hound's on-duty hours, so they weren't even going to run into each other in the rec room.

Good. It was what Sunstreaker wanted.

He'd almost half-convinced himself of that, at least.

Sideswipe kept on pointing out that his mood had gone straight downhill. Sunstreaker snarled whenever he did and then stomped away to find a new place to sulk. He was also trying to avoid any mech on the Ark that spoke to him. That was harder, although they'd picked up on his moodiness, too, and were mostly staying away.

Jazz wasn't. Jazz was immune to things like bad attitudes and warning growls. He was also Sunstreaker's superior.

"—So that's how it all happened. Sorry, 'Streaker, I got to run, but—oh, yeah! Prowl says to tell you that your patrol's flip-flopped because he needs your brother on either the day or night shift that you have now, and he's got punishment detail for half the night one. So, same patrol, but you'll be with Hound on the other time frame. I should tell him, too—I think he was getting sick of Huffer. So, uh, catch you later?"

And then he was gone, leaving a poleaxed Sunstreaker in his wake, petrified.

_What had just happened…?_

* * *

Sunstreaker pulled to a screeching, annoyed half a short ways away from Hound, who hid a flinch and bit back a sigh, simultaneously.

The yellow mech transformed, stalking over to peer over the other's shoulder; Hound was kneeling, staring at what looked like any other patch of dirt to Sunstreaker.

The both tried to start speaking simultaneously.

"What are you—"

"Sorry, I'll get—"

Hound fell silent, and after a few seconds Sunstreaker started speaking again. "What are you looking at?" he said, voice not _as_ violent and accusatory as it usually was. He tried to make the tone softer than he usually did, even gentler than he'd started out with. That was good, at least: he _needed_ to think before he started accusing others—

"Frogs," Hound replied easily, hiding the thread of nervousness in his tone without much difficulty. And Sunstreaker never had been good at picking up on subtle social cues. "I'm sorry—I'll get moving again."

Sunstreaker shifted, almost as if he wanted to say something, glaring at Hound as he did so.

"I can wait," he announced at last—they weren't supposed to be too far apart when they were on patrol—and he stalked a little ways away.

Hound stared after him, not sure what to think at all. It just didn't make sense!

He still didn't linger: he waited just long enough to grab a few image captures, then transformed. Sunstreaker took off even before he was fully in vehicle mode, and Hound followed after him, at a more reasonable speed.

They still didn't end up finishing the patrol at the same time. Sunstreaker spent most of the trip moving at speeds Hound couldn't even manage, let alone consider using when he was supposed to be paying attention to their surroundings—not that he thought that Sunstreaker was doing that. Hound had no idea why Sunstreaker had bothered waiting for him at all—it just didn't make sense.

None of this did.

* * *

When Hound pulled up in front of the Ark, Sunstreaker was there, waiting. So was Prowl.

"Regulation states that patrol is to be undertaken in pairs," he said, crisply.

Hound didn't know what to say. "Sorry," he said sheepishly, at last, as he transformed and stood. "It won't happen again, sir." He didn't say a word about not having the sort of speed it would take to keep up with Sunstreaker when he was in a hurry. Not that he needed to: Prowl didn't need reminding of something like that.

He nodded, dismissing him, and Hound headed indoors at a good clip; no doubt it was Sunstreaker's turn to get told off, and the odds weren't good that he'd have as easy a time as Hound had. Or that he'd be as accepting of the reprimand. Neither of the twins reacted well to authority figures. And Prowl was probably the _definition_ of one.

He paused, just inside the Ark. Something in him felt almost—guilty. He snuck a look back over his shoulder. He couldn't see much, with his vision limited by the dark, but…

Prowl's posture was as stiff as always, doorwings held high and formal. Sunstreaker almost looked like he was slumping, uncharacteristically unaggressive with his body language..

Feeling uncomfortable, confused and almost a little resigned, Hound turned around. He figured he probably owed Sunstreaker _something_ for… For whatever it was that he'd pulled that night, what with waiting for Hound and everything. He took a few steps, then called over to the other two. "Prowl? Uh—I guess I should tell you that I was looking at some of the wildlife out there tonight. It slowed me down." That was good—not an actual lie, but it did imply that Sunstreaker shouldn't get _all_ the blame.

And hey, if he was lucky, maybe Sunstreaker would stop treating him like some sort of bizarre threat, or a Decepticon traitor, or—or whatever it was he was doing. He kept on _staring_ at him. But Hound was almost certain that he wouldn't wait this long if he was just going to beat him into scrap metal. Maybe. Maybe Sideswipe had just blackmailed him into helping with a prank again, although that didn't usually involve Hound. He wasn't a good target: he'd made sure of that. He'd purposefully kept his reactions as neutral and uninteresting as possible, the first time around. It had done him good.

Prowl wavered, momentarily and barely noticeably, before speaking. "Thank you, Hound. Although I will expect promptness with such information in the future. Dismissed."

Hound turned back around and smiled to himself. That was Prowl all over, good old reliable Prowl: taking the information as it was made available, weighing everything in the balance and sticking to both the letter and the spirit of the law.

And about as emotive as paint, but everyone had their little flaws. Primus knew half the Ark had some sort of diagnosable social problem. The other half ranged from mildly quirky to highly weird.

* * *

"I don't get _it,_ I don't get _him_, I don't want to deal with any of this!"

"Hey! Calm _down_, Sunny. –You know, I find myself saying that far more often than I should have to. Seeing how you're not supposed to be going into homicidal rages. I mean, you're even worse than you _normally_ are. If either of us were any worse at our jobs—and if we weren't a package deal—you'd probably get drummed out of the army. For your _normal_ behavior. But you've been ridiculously moody for a while now, and it's getting old, let me tell you. Now: calm down, stop pacing, don't hit me and tell me what happened."

"He—argh!"

"Which 'he' are we talking about here? This slagging better well not be about Hound again…"

Sunstreaker fell silent, slumping moodily against the wall instead. He brushed at a dried-on splash of mud on his leg, and Sideswipe started as he realized that that meant that Sunstreaker hadn't headed straight for the washracks after his patrol, even though it had been rainy, recently, and all the roads were mud. And the way he hadn't argued back meant that it _was_ about Hound. Slag.

"…Did you attack Hound and end up confined to quarters?" he asked, warily.

"What? No!"

"You know, it's not _that_ unreasonable a question. I mean, considering who you are."

Sunstreaker slumped even lower, if that was possible. "Yeah," he muttered. "I know. No, I didn't jump him. I… He stood up for me! To Prowl."

"What? _Really?_"

"Don't sound so surprised," Sunstreaker hissed, optics narrowed aggressively, but Sideswipe could _feel_ the lack of real anger there. That worried him too, actually. It said too much about Sunstreaker's mindset. "—Yeah. He did. I _don't know_. I just… _Slag_ this!"

Sideswipe walked over to sit next to his brother, shoulder bumping against shoulder and hip against hip, their backs to the wall. "Alright," he said slowly, voice gentling. "Tell me everything that happened. _Everything_. I don't trust you to not miss something important."

Sunstreaker let him get away with that last jab. It was true, and Sideswipe was his brother. He couldn't really protest.

Still, he didn't speak.

"Come on. Sunshine!"

"Give me a single slagging _minute,_ would you?"

"Whatever. Aren't _you_ touchy today?"

"We…

"…We were on patrol. Night patrol. You know that. It was in the woods. I picked up an unidentified heat signature a short ways off the track, but it was deer. Some stupid Earth animal. When I catch back up to Hound he's _looking_ at something. So I start to speak, but he starts to, too, so he stops. I think he thought I was going to get angry at him if he kept on going. –Slag it. He _does_ think I'm going to attack him, I can't… But whatever—

"So I ask him what he's doing. …I tried to not sound too angry. Or '_accusatory_.' And I am _not_ slagging accusatory, afthead. And he says he's watching frogs. Frods? Something like that. So I tell him I'll wait because that slag's _important_ to him and if I'd kept on going he'd have felt obligated to follow me because he's an _idiot._ And he still finished really quickly. –Because he thinks I'm going to attack him. I head off when he finishes and he leaves but—But I'm speeding. It was _boring_ and I just wanted to clean off and get some recharge. _That's_ simple, at least. He stayed behind. He didn't even try to keep up."

"Okay so far," Sideswipe says, slowly. "Good job, waiting for him. Keep that up and you'll almost seem like a functional member of society! Seriously, though, that was a good idea. –On the downside, though, Hound's not going to be able to keep up with you when you're determined. I mean, he's no Trailbreaker, but he isn't made for speed. Which means more than just _the speeds he is capable of reaching_, Sunstreaker."

"Whatever. Prowl's there when I get to the Ark, so I pull up. He asks me where Hound is, and I say I don't know. _That_ just pisses him off. He tells me to wait, and I do. And Hound takes his own sweet time getting there. When he does Prowl just gives him a few words of warning and lets him walk off, damn him—"

"He probably figured out you were speeding, and he _knows_ Hound can't keep up with you," Sideswipe interjected.

"And he starts lighting into me. I think he was going to give me time in the brig, a punishment detail at the _very_ least, but then Hound comes back and tells him that he was—What did he say? _'I_ _guess I_ _should_ _tell_ _you_ _that I_ _was_ _looking_ _at_ _some_ _of_ _the_ _wildlife_ _out_ _there_ _tonight_. _It_ _slowed_ _me_ _down_._'_ Prowl dismisses him, and then tells me to keep to speeds Hound can manage tomorrow night, but that's _it._ And—Hound did that for _me._ It wasn't… He was going to come out of the whole slagging thing smelling like roses! He had _no reason_— He was taking the blame!"

"Well, _I_ don't see why you're so angry. Tell you what—next time, tell him he can come up with excuses for _me._"

Sunstreaker growled, expression filled with smoldering fury.

There was no other conversation. Slowly, Sunstreaker's racing engine slowed, calmed. He settled in, straightening a little. He edged a little closer to Sideswipe, who oh-so-casually let his hand fall against his brother's hand, an extra anchor.

Sideswipe had almost fallen into recharge when Sunstreaker spoke again.

"Sides?" He sounded almost painfully vulnerable.

"Yeah, Sunny?"

"…Do you think he was just trying to buy me off? Because he thinks I'm going to…" He trailed off, almost ominously, not wanting to say the words. It was far too plausible.

Sideswipe's spark contracted, painfully. He sounded so… _Something._ Like he might actually need someone else, someone who wasn't his twin. Or want to need it. He needed that, himself. He usually tried to forget that. Maybe _he_ should attack Hound—

"—No. I don't think so."

There was a long silence.

"Sides?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

--End chapter 3--


	4. Little Details

**Difficult Things:** Little Details

**By Dreaming of Everything**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers, I just play in the sandbox. No offense is meant, and I'm certainly not making any money off of this.

**Author's Notes: **I'm so, so sorry this has taken so long! I seriously had it _almost_ finished six or seven months ago—it was just the last three sections that gave me hell. I did finally manage to get it done, though, with help from the wonderful **anon_decepticon**! Thank you so much!

Hopefully, I will never, ever go so long between updates again. This is the exception rather than the rule, and my outlines for the following chapters are much, _much_ better, so I shouldn't run into the same problem in the future.

Another huge thank-you goes to my incredible beta, **mmouse15**. Thank you!

(Evil Killer Poptarts, Aeolus the Soul Hunter and blood shifter, I can't reply to your reviews! D: You have the PM feature disabled...)

_(Edited 6/5/09 to change chapter title, then again to fix an error--thank you again, **anon_decepticon!**)_

* * *

Sideswipe was worried. More than he usually was. Because Hound—he was getting to be almost as bad as Sunstreaker, what was _with_ the mech to make him the one most important outside influence in their lives for months at a time?—Hound was talking to Sunstreaker some, and they were getting along, _kind of_, but—

Hound would say hello to Sunstreaker, but it was a reserved hello. They talked a little on patrol, but it was always about inconsequentials, never even about anything that Hound was particularly interested in. Or anything that Sunstreaker was interested in, but that was a different matter. Even when he chatted with Sunny outside of patrols, it was _different_ from how he interacted with his friends. Because, Sideswipe was pretty sure, Hound didn't see Sunstreaker as a friend at all. When he was with Trailbreaker, Bumblebee, Cliffjumper, even Tracks, he was relaxed, open, even chatty—he was _friendly._ He joked around a lot, always had something to talk about.

And he was more open about talking with Sunstreaker, and a slagging lot better than most mechs on the Ark were at all, but he was still _not comfortable with him_. With _them_, really, because Sideswipe was pretty sure that Hound didn't like him much more than he liked his twin—he wasn't sure whether that was good (because it meant he kept aware, and that it wasn't _just_ Sunstreaker) or bad (because that wasn't going to make anything any easier.)

The thing was, Sunstreaker picked up on some of that, but not all of it. More to the point, he didn't know how to _do_ anything about it. He had absolutely no talent when it came to making friends, or even when it came to making himself seem inoffensive. And he was kind of a social failure. He didn't _get_ interactions between mechs that weren't Sideswipe and himself. That was mostly because he didn't care, and never really had, certainly not in a long, long time—but it wasn't that _entirely_. It was partly because he was inexperienced, and because he just—he just didn't work that way. And it was okay, usually, but Sideswipe—yeah, he was worried.

Hound was nervous. Confused, maybe. Sideswipe was pretty good at reading people, and he'd been paying attention. And what he'd seen scared him, honestly. Because _somebody_ was going to end up hurting, if something didn't change, and physically it might be Hound, but emotionally—

Emotionally, it was going to be Sunstreaker. And Ratchet wouldn't be able to put him back together. Hell, the medic—everyone—was going to be furious with him if something _did_ go wrong. Because knowing Sunny, he'd take it out of someone's hide, and it would probably be Hound's.

* * *

Hound had been watching a pair of rabbits, but he wasn't so preoccupied that he didn't notice Sunstreaker's arrival.

"Hello," he said, distractedly, as the other mech drew nearer. He thought he should maybe say something else, but he didn't know what—it wasn't like Sunstreaker had any interest in organic wildlife. And he couldn't even begin to guess why he'd sought him out in the first place at all.

"Hey," muttered Sunstreaker, which was actually a pretty nice greeting for him, Hound was learning. He...really didn't seem big on pleasantries, or social niceties.

At all. To put it mildly.

_...But he seemed to be trying..._

There were a few minutes of silence. After a while, a hawk appeared, and the rabbits bolted for their burrows. Hound turned away with a sigh (after a few quick image captures of the hawk, he wanted to look up what kind it was) and faced Sunstreaker instead. He was a little surprised to find the warrior studying him with surprising intensity. Maybe more surprising was the utter lack of aggression in the look.

The lack of aggression assuming that Hound was reading him right. Which wasn't necessarily true. But it seemed likely...Hound was getting to know Sunstreaker. He was unbalanced, yes, but not to the point where he had strikingly different body language, different ways to give nonverbal threats; no, Sunstreaker wasn't _that_ crazy. And he was surprisingly honest—although Hound wasn't sure _why_ that was a surprise. Either way, whatever he was feeling seemed to show on his face. It was just that whatever he was feeling was, usually, _angry_.

"I was looking at some rabbits," offered Hound, because he needed to say _something_. Predictably, a look of irritation flashed across Sunstreaker's face. He really, really didn't care at all, and he knew that Hound knew that. Which was fair—everyone had different tastes, and Hound's were somewhat unusual, even for an Autobot.

"...I wanted to see what you were doing," offered Sunstreaker after a short pause, somewhat moodily.

That was a—surprise. To put it very, very slightly.

Hound was shocked, and unsure. He didn't know how to respond, but—

Honesty was usually the best policy. So was the straight-forward approach. "Why?" he asked, voice open, honest.

"I want—to get to know you better?" hazarded Sunstreaker, looking and sounding like he knew even less than Hound did. He _also_ looked surprised, actually, which Hound kind of appreciated. At least it meant that he wasn't alone.

The silence that followed dragged on so long that even Sunstreaker knew that something was wrong.

He stood, roughly, and turned, pretty face twisted and contorted with warring anger, embarrassment and loss, all combining into something that looked, at least, only like fury, but Hound stuck out an unexpected hand, grabbing gently at Sunstreaker's leg, the only thing he could still reach the way they were positioned: Sunstreaker striding away, shoulders set, and Hound on the ground, half-twisted around.

"Wait," Hound said, surprising himself this time. It was just a day for them, surprises, he guessed—

Sunstreaker did stop, although he didn't turn to face the other mech. He was torn, conflicted, and it was obvious, in his posture and, Hound was pretty sure, in his expression, too—he wasn't very good about hiding his emotions, sometimes.

"I—didn't know. That, ah, you were trying to make friends?" The statement became a question, because Hound really _wasn't_ sure—well, that was the only logical answer as to what Sunstreaker had said, but he was also pretty confident that there was at least a chance that he would take exception to that actually being _said,_ in so many words.

Sunstreaker _didn't_ react, though. Which was also a surprise. Like he'd thought: it was a day full of them. Maybe too full.

"With me, at least. But I guess—I should have. So I'm sorry for that? You don't need a _reason_ to track me down."

There was no verbal response, but Sunstreaker relaxed a little, although something—probably pride—kept him from turning around to face Hound again.

"So—now that you've...found me...

"Do you want to do something this afternoon before our shift starts?"

"We could go for a drive?" Sunstreaker said, sounding hesitant as he spoke up. But maybe hopeful, too, in his own strange way.

"...I won't be able to keep up with you." That was the pure, unvarnished truth. Over really rough terrain, _maybe_ Hound would have the advantage, but on any road—he had no hope in hell. He was fine with that, but _Sunstreaker_, on the other hand—and if he'd wanted to do something _together,_ having three miles distance between them because he was just too fast for Hound, then—

"...I can slow down?"

Hound smiled, slowly. "Alright," he said. "That sounds—good." Surprisingly, it really did. Or at least, it sounded acceptable enough, for an afternoon off; or, no, something more than that. "Let's go, then?"

* * *

Hound was keeping up a pretty good pace, for him, and it was nice to just get out and _move_, with no further purpose.

Sunstreaker was radioing him. _"You're not too slow,"_ he admitted, and his tone almost made it a compliment instead of an insult.

...Sunstreaker wasn't a bad partner for this sort of thing. Even with his offer to slow himself down, Hound—Hound hadn't expected him to actually do so. That made him feel bad, a little guilty—the mech was _reaching out to him_, he could at least have the decency to have a little faith in him. So it was _Sunstreaker,_ widely accepted to be one of the most dangerous mechs on the Ark, for Autobots as well as Decepticons, so what? But...

...Wouldn't it be hard to live with that kind of reputation?

So maybe he was at fault, too. Hound prided himself on being a good mech—friendly, reliable, he liked to be there for his friends, his team—and, well, he'd failed himself, maybe. He owed it to Sunstreaker to at least _consider_ the possibility that he was sincere. It...might even explain something. Maybe.

The other side of the equation was that Sunstreaker had _earned_ his reputation. It hadn't been thrust upon him, with no provocation. The Autobots were highly accepting of quirks (oh yes) and people were allowed to prove themselves when they arrived. The twins were no exception. They'd definitely proved themselves. Proved _something_, at least.

Sunstreaker had looked _vulnerable_ when he'd turned to leave, after the long silence that had followed his statement: _I want to get to know you better_.

Hound radioed Sunstreaker; the channel had already been opened, after all. _"Thank you. This is nice."_

Sunstreaker made a sort of grunting noise in reply. A second later, he tacked on a verbal recognition of the sentiment: _"Yeah. ...Thanks."_

"_No problem_," and then the line went quiet for a while.

...Sunstreaker really had slowed himself down. He was letting Hound set the pace, even though he was in the lead—when he got too far ahead he slowed down a little, until Hound drew closer.

* * *

So the twins were hanging around more. In little ways. Hound just—saw them more. Interacted more. When it came to Sunstreaker, especially—and sometimes he was even decent. It was...odd. Not in a bad way. It just wasn't...

_Normal_.

But Hound was adapting. He was good at that.

Sideswipe, at least, had insinuated himself into his life _fairly_ naturally. Subtly, even, which was something of a surprise. And that made Sunstreaker's presence a little more normal, too, because where Sideswipe went, Sunstreaker followed, and vice versa.

They'd ask him to watch a movie, sometimes, when they were off-shift. Or Sideswipe would try and talk him into doing something ridiculous—_"Hey, Hound, let's try—" "No."—_and Hound would refuse, usually good-naturedly, because there wasn't the usual pressure there. A lot of the threat had gone away, or at least some of it had—or it was just possible that Hound was getting used to it.

Or at least, he was less on edge about it. When he thought about what was happening, with the twins and his life—

—Well, it made him a bit uneasy. For reasons he couldn't quite explain.

* * *

The shifts had changed again, but Hound was still assigned with Sunstreaker. He was surprised, in a way, to find out that he didn't mind. Things had...relaxed, between them. There were worse partners—Hound considered Cliffjumper a friend but hated working with him, since he had a knack for creating situations that blew up in his face, sometimes literally; and working with Huffer was a nightmare situation—and Hound even enjoyed himself, especially on the good days. But the fact that there were good days at all meant that there were bad days, and that was—_abnormal._ Not in a good, acceptable way, the way Hound was abnormal, or Prowl or Perceptor or most of the others on the team. And everyone had bad days, in a different sense, but they weren't supposed to make you a _threat_ (was he really a threat? How bad did his temper need to get before Hound needed to worry?) and they weren't supposed to happen in almost equal measure to the good days.

Now they were assigned to guarding supply runs, not something Hound was usually assigned to but a fairly normal shift for Sunstreaker, who tended to get given the jobs that were out of the Ark and away from humans and large groups of other mechs. It wasn't bad at all. Hound liked the chance to get out and drive, and Sunstreaker—he really _wasn't_ bad company. Even on the days when he was angry or irritable or upset or whatever it was that set him off—Hound was starting to _adjust_ to that. Was it just familiarity? Did he really not feel threatened? _Should_ he feel threatened? Hound didn't know...

But reality was what it was, and Hound was out with Sunstreaker and enjoying himself and not afraid, or even mildly concerned, at all. It was a nice day, and Sideswipe had decided to come with them, since he had nothing else to do. That—wasn't really a problem, either, Hound realized. He'd never gotten along well with the red twin, although he'd been more comfortable with him than he had been with Sunstreaker, but some of that had faded, too. Just like he no longer feared Sunstreaker. Their baffling conversation in the woods still echoed through his mind: _I—didn't know. That, ah, you were trying to make friends?_

And then Sunstreaker's _reaction_ to that. Or non-reaction. He hadn't denied it. He...he really was.

Hound was jolted back to reality as Sideswipe's radio crackled: _We're going too _slow_, you guys_, he whined. _Come on!_

He was about to speak up—_'this speed is comfortable for me, but you two could go on ahead_'—but Sunstreaker radioed as well, keeping to the public line that Sideswipe had used, before he could.

_Shut up, slagger. This is fine_.

Hound just didn't know what to say to _that_. Neither did Sideswipe, apparently, and that was saying something.

He knew he had to be going too slow for Sideswipe and Sunstreaker both—it had to be driving them crazy, knowing the two as he did. Sideswipe, absolutely, he'd so much as said so. There were simply inherent differences in their build and make, things that stemmed from something has inherent as their original design, what they had been made to be. Hound wasn't fast.

He could speed up a little, though. He did that, wordlessly, and as he passed Sunstreaker—who would pass him in turn in a minute or two, not content to follow—he radioed a single, private message as he went past.

_Thank you_.

There was no reply, but he hadn't been expecting one. And that was okay too.

* * *

Another battle.

They hadn't had any advance warning, but it could have been worse—at least most mechs were on-base when the call came in. Another power plant was being attacked, one that had been experimenting with a new way to collect solar energy. Just the sort of project that was likely to bring the Decepticons out of the woodwork.

Hound found himself behind Ironhide as they sped down the road—it could have been worse company. He was quiet, at least. Hound tried to keep to himself right before a battle, centering himself, steadying his nerves. Preparing. Everyone had their own way of dealing—Optimus became very serious, Jazz started treating everything like a joke, Sunstreaker was even more volatile than he usually was. Hound just—became a little withdrawn.

They heard the battle before they arrived, of course. The humans hadn't been able to put on much of fight, not without military backup, but the Aerialbots had arrived ahead of the land-bound main force.

And then it was chaos.

Hound had found a little cover, and he was taking pot shots at the Decepticons when he saw Ratchet plunge into the thick of things and not come out. Ordinarily, he wouldn't worry, and their medic was a capable mech in a fight, but he was also responsible for emergency treatment—

He went in after him.

It was easy to find him, alternately trying to patch a gaping wound in Cliffjumper's chest—while arguing with the mech, of _course_—and taking shots at the Decepticons. Hound jumped in to give them a little more protection—they weren't in the thick of things, but another mech made a difference.

Hound took a shot to one shoulder. It wasn't anything bad—he had armor for a reason—and the angle had been off, which helped. In the dizzy, half-unreal, slowed-time blur of battle programming, he hardly felt the wound: it certainly wasn't anything to _worry_ about, so he was confused when Sunstreaker fought his way to Hound's side, Sideswipe following him from a slight distance.

"You okay?" shouted Sunstreaker, energon (from others) trickling down his arms and more (maybe his own) running down the side of his face.

"Of course," Hound called back a few minutes later, when another lull in the fight let him. "I'm fine!" Of _course_ he was, and why was _Sunstreaker_ asking? Regardless of whether or not he cared, Hound's wound wasn't serious by anyone's standards, let alone those of a front-line fighter known for his brutality.

The next time he looked around, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were gone again, and Hound didn't have time to think about them anymore—not until later, after the battle was over. Even still, it had been bizarre—strange.

Another 'Con was shooting at him and Hound dove for cover.

_There would be time to think later._

* * *

Hound had been looked over, perfunctorily, by Ratchet, and then been told to wait until morning. It really _had_ been almost nothing, the damage superficial, largely cosmetic—the blast had hit just wrong, apparently.

He'd almost gone straight to his quarters, but the need for energon had convinced him not to. The rec room had a handful of mechs in it, but the attitude was subdued, exhausted: technically, they had won the battle, but it hadn't come easy. There were at least two or three mechs in emergency surgery, and they were still coming up with the human death toll, but it had been high. Too high. Hound got his energon and sat at an otherwise empty table, drinking quickly.

Sideswipe passed Hound as he left, making his own way into the rec room as he left. He nodded at him as he passed, because it never hurt to be friendly.

The red Lamborghini turned to follow him after a few halting steps through the door, away from him. Hound didn't notice at first, didn't realize that he'd been followed at all until he was almost to his quarters, when the mech finally sped up a little to pull even, falling into step behind him. He was maybe standing a _little_ too close, but it was nothing extreme, or even particularly noticeable. Hound chalked it up to it being Sideswipe, who was often a little—unsettling.

"How are you?" Hound asked, a little belatedly, because something needed to be said.

"Fine," Sideswipe said airily, not bothering to even explain away the fresh weldmarks along one side. "What about you?"

"No real damage," Hound said. "I'll be checking into the med bay tomorrow, but it's nothing serious. How's Sunstreaker?"

"He'll be out from under Ratchet's tender care by tomorrow," Sideswipe said, shrugging. "Nothing bad. Hey, you doing anything tonight?" he flashed a dazzling grin.

"Recharging," Hound replied, tensing a little. The implications...

"Oh, you're _boring,_" Sideswipe said, drawing out the final word. "We could try something else."

Hound started—_embarrassingly—_at the feel of fingers against his side, pressing firmly into the metal. Sideswipe, who was apparently very cohesive, personality-wise, even when he was trying to seduce someone, snickered loudly.

"No, thank you," Hound said, firmly. Sideswipe, to his credit, eased up a little, although he remained too close for comfort.

They reached Hound's door. He typed in the keycode, and the door swished open. He paused, but Sideswipe just stepped a little closer, not taking the hint.

"You're sure?" Sideswipe asked, one final time. "What about later—a little tactile stimulation between friends?"

"No," Hound said, needlessly rude—it was a fair question, after all. He was kind of a prude, when it came to physical closeness—but he was _exhausted_, and he didn't have time to figure out what, exactly, Sideswipe—and maybe Sunstreaker, _Primus—_was up to, and what was meant—

"Okay, okay," Sideswipe said, backing up a little, hands going up defensively. His expression was amused, light, but there was—_something_, in his eyes. "I'll see you later, then."

"Goodbye," Hound said, and he said it as warmly as he could while remaining firmly unseductive: he had been unkind, and he really didn't mean his refusal offensively—it wasn't (entirely) that he didn't like Sideswipe, because really, he was getting almost used to him, it was just that he wasn't the type...

The smile Sideswipe gave him in return was unexpectedly—soft. _Kind._

...At least it didn't look like he was going to hold a grudge.

It seemed like his life was going to keep on getting more and more complicated. In unexpected ways. He didn't know what to think of that.

--End chapter 4--


	5. Patience

**Difficult Things:** Patience

**By Dreaming of Everything**

**Disclaimer:** I'm just playing—no offense or claims to ownership are meant.

**Author's Notes:** I'M SO SORRY.

Many thanks to my beta, **mmouse15**! Thanks to **anon_decepticon**, for being wonderful. :)

* * *

Hound kind of thought that there was some gossip going around. Well, he knew that: there was _always_ some gossip going around. But this time, unusually, he thought that it might be about him. Normally, he was too boring for the attention—his love affair with biology long since faded into the general background weirdness that characterized life on the Ark—and too much a part of the status quo. He did kind of guess that that had changed.

He certainly seemed to be spending a fair amount of time with Sunstreaker.

Some conversations seemed to fade, or change directions suddenly, when he entered the room. And he'd caught one or two mechs looking him over, like they were looking for unexpected depths of the sort it would take to catch Sunstreaker's interest—not that it was like _that_. But he could see how they could misunderstand.

It was all a little bit confusing.

But rumors were, in the end, essentially harmless—mostly, anyway. Close enough for him, at least. They'd fade, and that would be that. If anything got out of line—it usually didn't—he'd talk to the mech in question about it, or maybe talk to one of the officers. He really didn't think it would come to that. His life just didn't have that much drama in it.

* * *

Sunstreaker pulled up short as he realized that it wasn't Hound waiting for him outside the Ark. He hadn't been smiling before—not quite—but his face darkened, a scowl forming as he stalked forward.

_Bumblebee_. It could have been worse, but—still. He was a _minibot_.

"Sorry for the surprise," Bumblebee said calmly as they pulled away from the base. Sunstreaker sped up, realizing that he'd—force of habit—fallen into the speeds he kept to for Hound's sake. _'It was a last-minute thing. Hound was needed for a mission.'_

Which was normal. Hound was a valuable addition to the Autobots, Sunstreaker knew that. Sometimes he was useless—not a good fighter, slow—but he could do things nobody else could. His tracking abilities were unparalleled. ...Sideswipe had told him that, a while ago. At first he'd just written off the mech. And for a while afterwards.

He wasn't very showy. But...

A silence fell. Bumblebee was working hard to keep up with Sunstreaker, but was keeping a reasonably close distance. It only served to irritate him further. Slagging mech.

There was a long period of silence.

_'...There's some rumors going around the Ark,'_ Bumblebee radioed, after a while. Not unkindly.

Sunstreaker swerved a little to the left, unable to keep himself from flinching. When he straightened himself out he returned to chilly ambivalence. No recognition of what had been said at all.

Bumblebee, fearless but maybe a little hesitant, continued. _'Certain mechs think that you're toying with Hound.'_ In several senses of the word, depending on the inclinations of the mech doing to the thinking.

Sunstreaker snarled out loud, fury curling through him.

_'—It's only natural to worry about a friend.'_

Something snapped. Sunstreaker wheeled around, transforming as he went, one foot coming forward to crunch down, mercilessly, on Bumblebee's hood. Metal crumpled and the ozone-energy smell of volatile energon vaporizing filled the air. The smaller mech didn't scream, but made an indeterminate, pained noise.

Too damaged to transform, Sunstreaker analyzed with long familiarity. Bumblebee struggled to get away from him, but he was still pinned. It made a terrible rasping noise, where the plates of Bumblebee's armor has been bent out of place by Sunstreaker's foot, the metal scraping. The damage to the attacking mech was mostly superficial.

Sunstreaker wasn't fighting any longer, not even lashing out—just waiting, dumb. Bumblebee pulled himself free, transforming—he'd had been wrong, he was more resilient than he'd thought—and pulling his blaster, pointing it steadily at Sunstreaker. His expression was unreadable.

Energon spattered to the ground, leaving oily dark patches on the dry dust. It had been a while since it had rained. Hound had been talking about it—something about frogs. He talked to him, sometimes, even though Sunstreaker didn't really care. There wasn't much else to do on patrol or delivery, or any of the other low-skill tasks Sunstreaker was assigned to.

...Hound. Who everyone was worried about. Because of _him—_because of course he'd—

Attack him. Leave him bleeding, with armor plates crumpled until they impeded mobility, prevented transformation. Unexpectedly, when the mech crossed some line he probably wasn't even aware of in the first place.

"I was trying to give you the benefit of doubt," Bumblebee told him, remarkably sober. It wasn't—expected. And he was still threatening him, gun leveled squarely—unerringly—at a weak spot in his armor. "I thought I could do that much."

They waited until another mech arrived. Sunstreaker was cuffed—a formality, he wasn't fighting—and marched back to the Ark. Bumblebee needed assistance getting that far.

Sunstreaker was jailed until the next major battle, when he was released on probation. They needed him to fight.

Sideswipe was his only visitor during his incarceration.

Rumors ran rampant around the Ark. They never stopped, really, but the gossip wasn't always so juicy.

* * *

Sunstreaker paused as he entered the rec room. Hound was there, close by the door, talking to Trailbreaker and Mirage. He was easy, relaxed and laughing, obviously happ— At ease in a way he'd never been with Sunstreaker.

He wasn't losing anything, because there hadn't been any damn thing in the first place. Nothing to lose, so no loss.

He was a yellow mass, a blur at the periphery of Hound's vision. Unmistakable.

"I think the mission went pretty well," Trailbreaker said, a comforting hand on Hound's arm. Sunstreaker bristled.

"You did an excellent job," Mirage told him, looking over. "You can't account for everything."

Hound sighed. "I guess it worked out in the end, and that's the most important thing, right? —And now we have a few days off. Do you want to go out to the mountains, maybe...?"

"I don't know," Trailbreaker said, looking hesitant.

"It'll be fun! We can spare that much energon—you need to get off the Ark more. Please?"

"Okay," Trailbreaker said, capitulating. Even though he sounded resigned he smiled.

"I'll come too," Mirage said, his own smile quieter.

Sunstreaker stalked away, face curling into a sneer. Mechs muttered, but he ignored them. And left as quickly as he was able. Hound looked up as he exited the room, but his face stayed blank, neutral. Disapproving. Nothing that... Sunstreaker wasn't used to seeing. But not from Hound. He'd gotten used to—something else. And he had. He had lost something.

* * *

"Hey, Hound!" Sideswipe said, face bright with an almost too-wide grin.

"Yes?"

"I was wondering about this little animal I found outside—"

"Teletraan has some good data files," Hound said, turning back to his previous task. He was helping the science team sort some rock samples Beachcomber had brought back from a recent expedition, and it required a fair amount of concentration.

He wasn't particularly interested in being helpful.

"Oh," Sideswipe said, grin not wavering but the quality of it changing. "I guess—but that's boring."

Hound made a neutral noise that could be taken as agreement. He bent closer to look at a rock, examining crystalline structures and banding.

"It's little, kind of hairy—"

Hound looked up. "I'm not here for your amusement," he said, flatly.

"Oh," Sideswipe repeated, and this time he did look kind of serious. Kind of—strange. "I guess you're busy. Maybe someone else will know."

"Probably," Hound said tightly, looking back down at his sample. He ran his finger down the list of potential rocks. He'd been—short with Sideswipe, unnecessarily so. He wasn't even really at fault. True, he'd never been friendly with the mech, but... He didn't antagonize others. He wasn't supposed to be aggressive like that—defensive, maybe, if he had reason to be, but he'd been rude. Unfair, maybe, but it was _Sideswipe_...

But it wasn't Sunstreaker. Who was really the dangerous one of the pair—the one Hound really wanted to avoid.

If he was honest, he felt betrayed. Because....

He had no reason to. Sunstreaker was always unreliable, potentially dangerous, _confusing_ at best. Even when they'd talked, it had felt like he'd been missing a lot—like he couldn't translate half of what he said. Or was mistranslating it, worse—more dangerously.

...Sunstreaker, who had threatened him. Who had waited for him, gone driving with him. Sunstreaker, who he'd spoken up for and talked to and been unnerved by—and who'd sometimes surprised him. Not because of violence, which wasn't, truly speaking, all that unexpected...

Or, no, he'd been surprised by the attack on Bumblebee. It was out of the ordinary, even for Sunstreaker; and he'd... He'd gotten used to him. Somehow, he'd assumed that the strange peace he'd established with the twins was...applicable to others. That it was...

But there was no reason to think that at all. Hound shook his head sharply, expression hard and still. There hadn't been any big surprises, not really. There wasn't much worth saying.

Sideswipe had left. Hound vented a sigh as he looked up at the empty room. He'd need to find someone to go for a drive with later on. He was just feeling—a little isolated, maybe.

* * *

"Hound's stopped talking to me," Sideswipe said, unexpectedly. Sunstreaker looked up and over at him, face going hard.

"He won't even _look_ at me," he snarled, expression crumpling into something furious. And hurting.

"...He's good friends with Bumblebee," Sideswipe said. But even Sunstreaker knew _that._

And knew what kind of mech Hound was. Sunny knew that better than Sideswipe, even—he'd spent more time with him, unbelievably. That didn't usually happen. Sideswipe was the social one, after all.

"Yeah," Sunstreaker said, sounding like he _understood_. Not quite accepting, but—knowing what had happened. How, exactly, he'd fucked up. And he _cared_.

Sideswipe stared at his brother.

"And—he was already half slagging scared of me, I _know_. Stupid fragging— Thought I was going to _attack_ him." A short, bitter laugh. "So then I throw Bumblebee around a little—he can probably talk about how it's all _typical_. With his friends. Slagger. Talk about how weird I am—how _frightening_ because I—"

"Sunny," Sideswipe said, moving to sit down next to his brother on his recharge pad. He leaned in close but didn't push up against him, leaving their closeness up to him. "Why _did_ you attack Bumblebee?"

"He was..."

"It's _Bumblebee._ What _could_ he have done? He's irritating sometimes, sure, but he's not Cliffjumper—slag, he's not even Brawn. What's your malfunction? You hurt him pretty bad and won't say a thing about _why_. Not even that he pissed you off."

"He did," Sunstreaker said, face buried in his hands, muffling the words.

"He couldn't walk back to the Ark. ...He spent most of a day in the med bay."

"He was—"

Sideswipe sighed, and Sunstreaker deflated again, leaking aggression and self-righteous rage. He leaned against his brother.

"It wasn't worth it, huh?" Sideswipe said. Sunstreaker punched him, mostly gently.

"...He was talking about things he shouldn't."

"Is there any mech on the Ark who _doesn't?_ Except maybe Optimus—and Prowl. You should be used to it."

"There were rumors about me. Even before. And Hound."

"Rumors about Hound...? What, that he's boring? —Oh. _Oh_. There were rumors about you and him? Already?"

"That I was going to attack him," Sunstreaker said, voice thin and forlorn. Empty. He huddled in on himself, pulling away from Sideswipe a little. "Bumblebee was so—so slagging worried about him that he talked to _me_ about it. Worried I was—"

"Planning something, yeah," Sideswipe said with a sigh, pulling himself closer to Sunstreaker, resting a hand across an abdominal armor plate.

"Not even that," Sunstreaker whispered, soft and anguished. "Just—toying with him."

"So you lost it?"

"He doesn't _understand— _Hound gets it, right? That I wasn't—"

"Maybe he did," Sideswipe said, as nicely as he could.

And now he didn't. Hound didn't get it at all. Or he did understand—because there wasn't much of a way around what Sunstreaker had done. To his good friend. He'd—he'd tolerated Sunstreaker. Been confused, at least. Probably a little afraid. Things had been getting better for a while, maybe, but then—then they'd fucked up again.

Sunstreaker grabbed Sideswipe's hand, squeezing it until the metal creaked. They'd both have paint streaks from the other. Sides wasn't going to say anything if _Sunny_ didn't. He ignored the discomfort.

"He won't even look at me," Sunstreaker repeated. Like that was worst of all. "...He'd look if I attacked him."

"Don't do that, Sunny. It won't be worth more time in the brig, and Optimus is going to lose his temper eventually, and do something more drastic."

His brother ignored him and snorted instead, bitter. "The _gall_ of him—ignoring me! Slagging mech's obviously been impaired by living so long with a frame like _that_. We're not even _comparable, _I'm so obviously his superior."

"It'll work out," Sideswipe said, helplessly.

Sunstreaker made a soft, disbelieving noise.

--End chapter 5--


	6. Helplessly

**Difficult Things**: Helplessly  
By Dreaming of Everything

**Disclaimer**: I just play. Nothing but the story is mine.

**Author's Notes**: This really took me forever, didn't it? But don't worry—I'm still working on it! I hope everyone enjoys the newest chapter, and all the chapters to come.

Thank you everyone for all your support!

As always, many thanks to my beta, mmouse15, who never fails to be an inspiration.

* * *

It had been a while since Hound had checked in on the eagle nest he'd found, so he'd put aside his free morning for it. He was on a day shift but he managed to wiggle in some free time, since it wouldn't do to visit diurnal birds at night.

There had been some tenuous plans to head out with another mech or two—probably Beachcomber, maybe one or two other mechs—but they had fallen through. Hound was okay with that—he liked the chance to get out on his own sometimes. Sure, he was a friendly enough mech, but he was pretty used to quiet, which could be in short supply on the Ark.

He set off in fine spirits. It was a bright day, the sun bright even though the roads were still muddy from rain they'd gotten; it had been pouring down for close to a week, only stopping the night before. Hound could deal with a little mud—he'd certainly been in worse. Either way, the birds were singing (he'd gotten an early start, and the sun was still pretty low on the horizon) and the forest was especially green and full of life after the rain—there were frogs singing (or creaking, really, that was what it sounded like—a tree trunk squeaking and scraping against a neighbor) somewhere off among the trees, invisible even to his eyes.

And for once, nothing went wrong. He'd been half expecting it to, which was a good sign that he'd needed the break more than he thought. But there hadn't been any sudden Decepticon attack to call him back to the Ark, no last-minute emergency change-of-shift, no sudden pressing mission requiring use of his skills. Not that he usually minded _that_ much—assuming the Decepticons didn't manage to do much damage—but it was all just starting to add up.

...That whole thing with Sunstreaker, too. The yellow twin—well, both of them, but Sunstreaker especially—was avoiding him now. Not _obviously_, for the same reason that their previous interactions had been so obvious—they didn't normally interact. But he _was_ avoiding him. Hound didn't know why. It wasn't like he'd be—ashamed, or anything like that, there was no reason for him to _care_ what Hound thought...

It had just been—confusing. That wasn't it, though. Not at all. It was bigger than that.

He didn't want to think about it. About what Sunstreaker had done to Bumblebee, probably because of _him_. At least, he thought so. It was hard to say. Bumblebee was avoiding the subject as only special ops could, and Sunstreaker—Hound wasn't going to talk to him. For one, it was probably stupidly dangerous. Sunstreaker was avoiding him, after all; to track him down was just inviting trouble. He wasn't going to argue with the mech.

Before, Sunstreaker had been seeking him out. What had _happened?_ It was—confusing. How it had all started, what exactly it had turned into, what was going on now. Hound just wanted to forget about it, although at the same time he didn't.

Because Sunstreaker had been _nice_. Just to him, presumably. He was that sort of mech. He couldn't imagine why, though. And why _him_, of all the mechs there were on the Ark. It didn't make much sense to anyone, and it certainly didn't make any sense to Hound himself. He wasn't even sure it made sense to _Sunstreaker_, for that matter. Even though he'd never seemed—_that_ out of control before. True, he was violent and unpredictable, but—

His interactions with Hound himself. They—had been different. Somehow. Before, but now, too. Sunstreaker never _avoided_ people. Well, there were people he didn't like—he wouldn't sit at the same table as Tracks, for example—but Hound hadn't thought he'd been on that list, even though he'd hardly been Sunstreaker's favorite person—he thought—and then for a while Sunstreaker had _sought him out_. To spend time with him. He'd done it—oh, strangely, awkwardly, always with a hint of threat that Hound might have thought he was imagining, had been half-convinced he was imagining or at least something it was misinterpreting—until something cracked, and Sunstreaker had proven himself. And now Hound knew that the threat had always been there. He couldn't think anything else.

There was no _reason_ for Sunstreaker to start paying attention to him. Unless he wanted to attack him, but he'd never acted like—like _that_ before. And why Hound at all? Because he might buy the attempts at decency, at least for a while?

It hadn't _seemed_ like he'd been acting, or pretending. That was what made it hard. He had believed him, or believed him enough to want to believe him entirely. That was part of what made it so bad—he'd _known_ there was something strange going on, something he didn't understand. And then he'd chosen to ignore it, because—because why? Why _had_ he gone along with their strange game?

He thought that if it had been acting, Sunstreaker at least would have done a better job with it. Because if it had been attempts at being nice, he'd never been very _convincing_ about them. Hound had been wondering, and it didn't seem like acting because nobody tried to make friends—or anything else—like that. Was Sunstreaker really so damaged that that was the best imitation he could do of a normal mech trying to reach out and make connections? It didn't seem...right.

None of it did.

So Hound was ignoring everything he could, as best as he could. Sunstreaker was ignoring him, not seeking him out—so it wasn't likely to come down to a physical fight. So it was something he could—leave alone. Let fade, grow old and faint until things were never the same between them again, there was always a strange, wary coolness they were both aware of (_if Sunstreaker could recognize it_, Hound thought, unexpectedly bitter), something that was left alone. Untouched, and old and faded because of that, but no trust. No expectations, except to be—

He couldn't feel betrayed if he hadn't had some level of trust in the first place.

There was nothing to think about. Some things to forget, some other things to regret. Mostly there was anger that Hound couldn't let himself nurse, because that wasn't how you worked as a group, as a unit, as a soldier. And because he wasn't that sort of mech, and he didn't want to give Sunstreaker the sort of influence it would take to make him that sort of mech.

He was mad at Sunstreaker, but also at himself. For caring. For the—whatever it was, and that it might have been _why_ Bumblebee was attacked. Of all mechs. Not aggressive, not abrasive, certainly not stupid, and an officer. And no one that Sunstreaker was likely to pick a fight with. He had no reason to. _No reason to_, except for—apparently—Hound. And Hound had no idea why.

He really needed to stop thinking about it.

Because there was road stretching out underneath his tires, warming as the sun rose. Because it was a clear day, glimmering with light reflected off of the remaining rain drops, the grass and small herbs glittering with dew. Because there were birds—finches, he heard wrens, he was going to go see _eagles—_and he had nothing to do all day but enjoy himself, enjoy this strange planet he'd found himself on, where every corner of—everywhere, really—burst with life, no matter how inhospitable. Even the barren surroundings of the Ark had countless little life forms tucked into it, something most of the other mechs seemed to forget, not notice or not care about. There were wildflowers after it rained, little ones that you missed until you slowed down and looked for them. Carly called them '_breathtaking_,' a phrase Hound didn't and couldn't understand on a physical level—but he _did_, somehow. At least, he thought so.

Enough to make any situation a little better. Nothing was better than perspective, and distance, and it was a beautiful day.

There were engines coming up behind him—Cybertronian, his sensors told him, and Autobots. Just two of them—and the energy signatures were, sickeningly, familiar. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker—he'd gone driving with them several times. They'd been surprisingly respectful, once the little details had gotten figured out. And unnervingly quickly it had become nice, familiar. Comfortable.

Which was wrong. It had to be wrong. No matter how safe _he _was, and he was in no way convinced that he had been safe, would ever be safe around a mech as unstable as Sunstreaker, had had his reservations even back then—but it _didn't matter_ if Hound was, personally, safe, because other mechs clearly weren't when they were around Sunstreaker, at least.

It had been confusing, and sometimes it had been nice—sometimes, it had really felt that there was something—odd, something _different _in how he was interacting with Sunstreaker.

"_I wanted to see what you're doing," Sunstreaker had said. Walking up to Hound in a field, as he lay watching the rabbits. "I—want to get to know you better." He hadn't sounded very sure about that. But he'd _said_ it. It was strange. Uncomfortable. Unbelievable, even while it was happening._

_Almost—almost—incredible, incredulous enough to make him believe it._

But none of that mattered. Or it did matter; but it was not an excuse, and there was no way to—to make up for what had happened to Bumblebee. No way to compensate for something like that: you couldn't say "He seems like he's better than that, to me at least," and let things be. Not when—not for Hound. Maybe some of the others could. Sometimes, he—he could almost want to be someone like that. But he—

He didn't exactly _believe_ in doing the right thing, in things being right. That implied a firmness of emotion, a certainty that he didn't have. Hound knew that the edges of morality were always squishy, undefined, prone to invoking dilemmas. But Hound did believe in doing the best he could. He wanted, even in the middle of the war, to do what felt right, even though sometimes it also felt wrong. To find _the right thing to do_, whatever it was.

The—whatever he'd had with Sunstreaker wasn't worth the risk. It wasn't worth the _insult_ to Bumblebee, the sort of implicit approval he'd be giving if he continued as if nothing had happened. Because it had. And there would be a lack of trust: it would be unfair to Sunstreaker, not that Hound thought he'd really notice or care—mostly, Hound didn't want to be that sort of person, either. He believed in honesty.

There were still engines coming up behind, closer and closer—then twin blurs swept past him, aggressively close, not that Hound let that cow him. Sunstreaker didn't go in for collisions—too much damage to himself versus damage to the other mech; not hands-on enough for his energon-hungry tastes—and Hound was too strongly built for it to be a particularly good strategy in this situtation. And because he had his pride, fueled by the low, aching, anger burning along his neural network, pooling around his spark.

Then they fell back, slowing down. Hound did too, for a second, thinking about turning back, finding another route or another day—but he wasn't going to let himself be _held back_ by Sunstreaker. Not after everything that had already happened. He wouldn't give him—them—that satisfaction. He resumed his usual pace—a little slower than he was used to, with Sunstreaker just in front of him, even though it was his normal speed. He'd gotten used to hurrying a little when he was on the road on a sunny day with the twins with him, the sort of respect he'd—he'd _given back_, because they'd been holding back for his sake. Even Sunstreaker, letting him set the pace, only polite considering how he was the slowest, but still _unexpected_, that should have been a warning sign in and of itself, that respect—

Now, no. Nothing. He was grim, leaving even Sideswipe a wide berth, tense. Silent—not engaging them. It was only logical, considering who it was: there was the risk that it would end with physical violence, Sunstreaker attacking him with apparently no provocation, like he had before, to other mechs—not Hound, not yet, but Hound had no reason to think he was any different. No matter what strange things had happened. And Sunstreaker had even more reasons to dislike Hound than he did Bumblebee.

_Nice day, huh?_ Sideswipe sent, no mention at all of the tension of the situation, just casual, wild carelessness. Hound bristled, his engine growled briefly, he would have glared—but that wasn't wise, don't give them a reason to engage, he told himself, and considered how to reply, formatting responses then discarding them, even more quickly. Too aggressive, too polite, not polite enough. Yet another situation he was being forced into—drives, sitting with them in the rec room, nature documentaries—but with none of the half-bemused acceptance, not-unpleased-surprise, he'd had. Not even the potential for comfort. Just an unhealthy dose of resentment, subtle fear. Hound was sensible, and _fear_ was sensible in this situation, even if Sideswipe was there—hopefully—to keep his brother at least a little more controlled.

_So we were out for a drive, and picked up your signal. We were bored—_ Hound wasn't even sure that Sunstreaker _could_ be bored, too self-absorbed for him to ever rely on the outside world for his entertainment, –_and you look like you've got something to do, so we figured we'd—_

_No,_ Hound replied, blunt and serious as he ever got, not threatening—never threatening; Hound wasn't _him—_but no-nonsense, a line drawn firmly between them. Not a boundary to press. _It's not a good time_, he added, overtones to the radio message firmly implying that it was not likely to ever be a good time in the foreseeable future. Sunstreaker's engine raced and he sped up for a second, pulling further ahead—he had to be tapped into the radio link too, Hound knew. This conversation was not about him, Sideswipe and a casual drive through the mountains

It was just like Sideswipe, though, all those levels of pretense—approaching things sideways in convoluted, misdirected directness, subtler counterpoint to his brother's more violent, even more direct, approach, which had no hints of subtlety at all.

_Maybe next week,_ Sideswipe said, apparently unfazed. Something that was cousin to fury rushed through Hound, all in a brief second, leaving determination in its wake.

_I don't think it's ever going to be a good time_, Hound said, almost grim as he was—again—forced into spelling things out for Sideswipe, and he sped up to pass, ready to be away from them, safe, ready to be _past_ them.

_Understood,_ Sideswipe said, and he sounded bitter. Disturbing, Hound thought. He hadn't thought—

He wasn't going to play this game.

He tried to shake himself from his thoughts, but there was Sunstreaker, barreling towards—past—him, a yellow blur, enough to make Hound flinch to the side, instinctual, even though there was room between them—barely, just barely room. There wasn't enough for him to feel safe. Because Sunstreaker didn't feel safe, and had never been safe, and it had all been a terrible, _painful_ mistake—

Sideswipe was turning too. _Sorry to bother you_, Sideswipe sent as they disappeared behind him, around a bend in the road, hidden by a tangle of trees. He didn't sound sorry, as wickedly, carelessly, half-charmingly devil-may-care as always—nothing new there—but with something heavier underneath it.

Hound tried to feel relieved, not just shaken.

* * *

_He flinched away from me_, Sunstreaker said, shortly. Sharp.

_You were trying to run him down_, Sideswipe's replied, tone filled with exaggerated, patient reason.

_He wouldn't have before_, the yellow one said in return, bleak, and Sideswipe had no reply for that. Bad as his brother was with the other mechs that made up their team, he'd read that situation right. For once. For once, he seemed to get it—that Hound wanted nothing to do with him.

It made Sideswipe a little angry. At Hound, because he defended his brother—at his brother, though he kept it buried. At himself, for not making it work, somehow. For not knowing what to do. Just angry in general. He didn't believe in fairness, he couldn't, he couldn't—

Helpless. He hated being _helpless_.

* * *

Hound found the eagle nest, and nothing could keep him from the delight—the downy chick, just starting to fledge, and her parents, the incredible design present in the creatures, organic or not an amazing feat of engineering.

He was too restless to stay long, far too full of energy—nervous energy, anxious—to head back to the Ark. Instead he turned and pressed further into the woods, leaving the road in favor of wilder explorations, the extra difficulty helping to keep his mind better-occupied than it had been when he'd simply been watching the birds, not as at-peace as he usually was in the _great outdoors_—such a wonderful human term!

The ground squished beneath him, saturated with water, but it just added to the experience—he didn't like grit in his plating any more than the next mech, except he _did—_he loved the whole experience of Earth, everything that went with it, even the mud.

Even though the clouds had cleared away completely by now, he carried something gray with him. He just tried to ignore it, refusing to spend any more time racing the same circular track over and over again—it was unproductive, a waste of energy, nothing he wanted to occupy his thoughts with now.

There were flowers blooming over there, in a patch of sunshine. He went to go see what they were.

* * *

Sunstreaker growled at the first mech to approach them—optics a little wide, not truly afraid but not pressing the issue, Wheeljack backed up. Sideswipe shot him a grin, just slightly manic—that was on purpose, diffuse the situation, he was _Sideswipe_, manic was better than protective, even if that's what he was doing for the glitch next to him, protecting him—and pulled Sunstreaker away behind him.

The growl didn't stop, low and menacing. He ignored that. Ignored the fierce, violent rage pouring off his brother, almost tangible—probably even if you didn't have a link into his head, Sideswipe thought, with a lopsided half-grin that was particularly bitter.

Optics bright with fury, Sunstreaker punched a wall as Sideswipe guided him into their quarters. The mech next door banged back, no doubt wanting them to shut up.

"It's all wrong," Sunstreaker said, voice not anguished at all—angry, but even just barely that. Mostly blank. "It's my fault, right?" He paused, then shook his head and stood to pace again, shaking slightly with repressed tension, every wire and cable pulled tight. "_His_ damn fault. He thought I'd attack him. Should have—should have when I still..." He stopped, the tremor a little bit stronger. Then he shook himself, seemed to recover, expression going hard. "I _hate_ it," he hissed, suddenly venomous, and Sideswipe didn't need to ask what he hated, because right now it was almost everything: the Autobots, this planet, Hound, he hated _himself—_probably hated Sideswipe, too, for having what he didn't. Between the two of them, Sides was the one who understood outsiders...

"Yeah," Sideswipe said, softly, trying to hide the bitterness still present but not fully able to—he wasn't sure if his brother could hear it. It was an insufficient word and an insufficient reply, but he didn't have anything else to say. He couldn't lie to Sunstreaker, and the truth...

* * *

The problem wasn't so much the mudslide as it was how the mudslide had buried him, and in the process some sort of rock had gotten pushed into his leg at the hip joint, with enough force to rip through some pretty important wires, and then the slurry of dirt and water had shorted out—some things. At least one important system. He couldn't really move his legs, and one arm was pinned underneath mud, mobility further hampered by bad denting in the armor, pinching wires and energon tubes, where a fallen tree had hit him, buried under the weight of mud.

He was pretty stuck. And his radio transmissions weren't going far because—luck tended to go like this—there'd been some damage to his comm systems, too.

It was probably about what he deserved after trying to climb up a steep bluff after that much hard rain. He should have been more careful, at least taken into account the signs of geologic instability—a real danger on this planet. And he _knew_ that Earth could be dangerous, didn't make the mistake of underestimating any part of it the way the Decepticons seemed to, and even some of the Autobots, but apparently—well, apparently he hadn't known well enough.

He was going to have at least one commanding officer give him a talking-to. Ratchet probably would, to start with, especially since they both knew that he should know better. As a tracker, it was his _job_, his driving purpose, to be in touch with the landscape around him.

He'd been... distracted, lately.

No matter what, there were enough dents knocked into his armor that he wasn't going to be forgetting anytime soon. He'd probably need a complete repaint, especially after they got hammered out—which might take a while, especially depending on whether or not his commanding officer decided he needed a punishment detail. Not that this wasn't already punishment enough. And oh, he was going to be _ugly_ for a few days. Probably bad enough to make Mirage look thoroughly horrified, and maybe even scandalized. ...Which actually might be kind of funny.

He wasn't exactly known for his stunning good looks, sparkling paint or obsessive upkeep, but there was a big difference between that and—well, what he was going to look like when he got dragged out of the mud. _If_ he did. No, he couldn't think like that. **When** he was rescued. An Autobot would pass by eventually—come within range of his emergency transmissions. Or even a human, if he could get them on a radio. Hopefully not Decepticons, but this wasn't an area known for Decepticon activity, and wasn't likely to become so. Hopefully. It was hard to tell, sometimes, with them...

No. Some mech would notice him missing pretty quickly, and even if that didn't happen—he wasn't exactly high profile, and he was often gone for long stretches of time, tracking Decepticons in the wilderness—the officers would when he didn't show up for his next assignment. He was more reliable than that. It wouldn't take much to figure out that something was wrong, or at least get people concerned that something _might_ be wrong. Especially with the ever-present threat of Decepticons hanging over their heads, like storm clouds. About as logical as storm clouds sometimes, too. And he could last for a while, with a mostly-full energon tank and no real energy drains he needed to worry about—thankfully his circulatory system hadn't been damaged, or had been fixed quickly by self-repair systems where it had; he wasn't leaking energon—so unless he needed to do a lot of shooting or holographic projecting before he was found, he'd be fine.

He tried shifting again, and winced as something else tore.

Someone would find him.

In the meantime, he started shutting down his nonessential programming. No reason to waste energy, after all. He settled in, as best as he could, but the only direction where he could see anything more than rubble was up—up above his head, back lit against the blue, blue sky, sunlight dazzling at the black edges, there were birds. Swallows, he thought, feasting on the midges that were breeding in the damp puddles still littering the ground. Flying to make a Seeker jealous, distinctly unmelodious, their tuneless chirps somehow, inexplicably, comforting.

He tried to shift again, to follow the sweeping arc of a dive, and was rewarded by popping, half felt and half heard, in his lower leg. His feet, already unresponsive, went numb, not even the background hum of working systems in place. He frowned, and tried to hold still, and concentrate on the dizzying sky, and the birds darting in and out of it.

* * *

"You ruined _everything_," Sunstreaker hissed, voice caustic, vitriolic as his optics, bright with fury. Bumblebee pulled up short in the otherwise empty hallway, already reaching for his gun, and suddenly Sunstreaker was slumping, posture entirely unaggressive, and there was a momentary spark of worry because of that, too—did the mech have a program that was _actually_ malfunctioning? They'd just gotten annual exams, and Sunstreaker was always in and out of the med bay, it wasn't something that Ratchet was likely to miss, and especially not in this mech, not after everything—but then the other mech was speaking again, voice pitched unnaturally low for his normal range. "...I'm sorry."

He was backing up, like Bumblebee was something to be afraid of. Which he wasn't, like this. He'd lose a one-on-one fight, might have an advantage in other situations—but not here, not now.

There had never been any reason to expect an apology. Right now, it scared him. Had it been forced, part of the punishment detail? He didn't think any of the officers on the ship would push at the already-delicate situation like that, not with this mech, not with _him_, not right now. Or was it of his own volition, his own idea or his twin's, something to convince the officers that he wasn't an irredeemable threat to the safety of the team? That was too subtle, for him. It smelled too much like admitting defeat, to surrendering or pandering, to feel like something that Sunstreaker would do.

Sunstreaker turned around, actually turned and left—and that, that looked like running away, which was something Sunstreaker _never_ did. And just like that, he was gone. He'd never even touched Bumblebee—managed to come disconcertingly close, offered what could be interpreted as a threat, but he'd _left_. And apologized. And looked—uncomfortable. Or, no, it was greater than that: he looked almost—almost—like he was in pain, and like he didn't know how to—handle it. Like it wouldn't show properly on his face. He'd seen Sunstreaker hurting before—everyone on the Ark had, because Sunstreaker didn't retreat—so he knew he was _capable_ of the expression, but this time it almost looked like he couldn't quite form it. Like pain was half-submerged, under his face.

But he'd apologized. After threatening him. What had Bumblebee ruined? His illusions? He'd talked about the Ark, about Hound...

It wasn't adding up. Which meant, Bumblebee knew, that he didn't know enough. He wasn't sure if he should investigate any further. Or leave it alone.

* * *

Sunstreaker pulled up from the night patrol, confused and just slightly blinded by the headlight beams cutting through the thick darkness.

"What's going on?" he demanded as he stalked into the throng, confusion being replaced with anger—standard for him; he'd been even angrier than normal, recently, something _else_ that was getting remarked on, tacked onto rumors that Sideswipe had heard even if he hadn't—and growing anticipation. A battle? He wanted to _bathe_ his hands in Decepticon energon.

"Hound's missing," someone said, tersely—probably didn't realize who it was. He peered a little closer—Trailbreaker, he thought, bitter, not looking in his direction. One of Hound's _friends_. His face was pinched with worry, and it looked like even he was willing to go out and search.

Sunstreaker wouldn't be welcome. No, he didn't _want_ to go look. He stalked back inside.

Sideswipe was waiting for him. "Let's go," he said, shortly, eyes a challenge—Sunstreaker wanted to meet it, wanted to argue with him, fight him, wanted to—wanted—

He turned instead, silently, and transformed, engine idling as he waited for Sideswipe to get them assigned to a sector. And didn't think about Hound at all.

Not at all.

He didn't matter anymore.

-End chapter 6-


End file.
